


Yellow, White & Royal Blue

by jubilee_line



Category: Dream Team - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Colorblind GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), DNF, Drunken Confessions, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Gay, George is colourblind, Hidden Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Minecraft, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince!GeorgeNotFound, Sexuality Crisis, Skephalo, US politics are fixed :D, dream is alex, dream team, dreamnotfound, first son of the united states!dream, george is henry, minecraft youtube - Freeform, red white & royal blue - Freeform, red white & royal blue but with mcytbers, so its yellow white & royal blue, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jubilee_line/pseuds/jubilee_line
Summary: What happens when America's First Son falls in love with the Prince of Wales? When his mother became President, Clayton Claremont-Diaz was promptly cast as the American equivalent of a young royal. Handsome, charismatic, genius - his image is pure millennial-marketing gold for the White House. There's only one problem: Clay has a beef with the actual prince, George, across the pond. And when the tabloids get hold of a photo involving a Clay-George altercation, U.S./British relations take a turn for the worse. Heads of family, state, and other handlers devise a plan for damage control: staging a truce between the two rivals. What at first begins as a fake, Instragramable friendship grows deeper, and more dangerous, than either Clay or George could have imagined. Soon Clay finds himself hurtling into a secret romance with a surprisingly unstuffy George that could derail the campaign and upend two nations and begs the question: Can love save the world after all? Where do we find the courage, and the power, to be the people we are meant to be? And how can we learn to let our true colours shine through?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Floris | Fundy, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Niki | Nihachu, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Eret & Floris | Fundy, Eret & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Eret/Floris | Fundy, Floris | Fundy & Niki | Nihachu, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, GeorgeNotFound & Wilbur Soot, Niki | Nihachu & Wilbur Soot, Skeppy/Badboyhalo, wilbur soot & ph1lza
Comments: 118
Kudos: 263





	1. Disclaimer & Cast List

**Introduction/Disclaimer:**

I do not own the "Red, White and Royal Blue" franchise or any of the characters. All credit for the story line and characters should go directly to Casey McQuinston.

Unfortunately I have had change the genders and ethnicity of certain characters due to the lack of female and POC creators, and many of the creator's ages and personalities will have changed for the sake of consistency with the book.

As always, I do not ship any of the creators in romantic relationships within this book in real life, this is all fiction and in no way am I trying to force these relationships or personalities onto the creators.

I am aware that there is content of a sexual nature within the book. I will skip over these scenes. I do not feel comfortable both writing explicit scenes, especially with real people, that is just my personal opinion so do not be surprised if those scenes are omitted here!

Generally, this will follow the rough story line of the book. However, I will probably change some minor plot points and maybe add in a few of my own!

Although I may be following the same plot as the book it is my writing. I won't take any of Casey McQuinston's writing and pass it off as my own! Some areas I will probably follow a little closer to the book (such as the election, since I'm British and don't know that much about American politics), and others will stray from the storyline!   
  


With all that said, on to the good stuff!

Here is the character list, primarily for those who have read the book since I will be using the creators names and, to an extent, personalities, however, you do not need to have read RW&RB to understand this! It is a fantastic book I would highly recommend, but hopefully the plot and characters should make sense without any prior knowledge of either the book or the content creators!

Alex/Clayton Claremont-Diaz (Dream) 

June/Niki Claremont-Diaz (Nihachu)

Prince Henry/George Fox-Mountcristen-Winsor (GeorgeNotFound)

Prince Beatrice/William Fox-Mountcristen-Winsor (Wilbur Soot)

Prince Phillip Fox Mountcristen-Winsor (Ph1lza)

Nora/Floris Holleran (Fundy)

Percy 'Pez'/Alastair 'Eret' Blackwell (The_Eret)

Shaan/Zak Srivastava (Skeppy)

Zahra/Darryl Bankston (BadBoyHalo)

Rafael/Johnathon Luna (JSchlatt)

Cassius 'Cash'/Dave (Technoblade)

Other Notable Characters:

Ellen Claremont

Amy Chen

Jeffery Richards

Martha Fox Mountcristen-Winsor

Oscar Diaz

Liam/Nick Armstrong (Sapnap)

Happy reading!  
Artio :)


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Uhh, the Royal Wedding? Don't tell me you'd forgotten about it?" 
> 
> "It's this weekend?" He groaned.
> 
> "Clay we leave tomorrow. How could you forget?"
> 
> "I don't know, talking to a bunch of stuck-up Europeans and having to pretend to be happy for little Mr Prince Charming's brother doesn't exactly fall high on my priority list."

It's quite funny, actually, when you think of the White House, it is likely that the first images that enter your mind are those of rigidity, formality, perfect paint work along with the meticulously made curtains, not a stitch out of line, flooring made of the most expensive wood money can buy. Clay thought this too for quite a while, even for the first weeks he spent residing in the world-renowned building, and it didn't quite feel like home until one Friday evening he discovered on his late-night amble that, if tapped with enough force, the bottom-left corner of the second sheet of wallpaper from the window would come loose.

What was so notable about this, you may ask. Well I tell you, dear reader, it was not that the illusion of perfection was shattered; he had figured that out on the day he moved in, when he stared at the cracks in the titanium-white paint on the ceiling of his room whilst trying to assemble the best possible answer to an essay that had been set, nor was it some sort of metaphor letting him know that even the strongest familial bonds become unstuck under the pressure that presidency can bring. In fact, it was nothing of the sort. It was what hid underneath that truly eased him into life as the First Son:

Rule #1: Don't get caught.

The bedrooms generally reserved for the First Family were the East and West on the second floor. First designed as one quite frankly enormous state bedroom for the some important person visiting across the world at the time they were built, it can be assumed that whomever decided to split it into two separate rooms had the same view as most would; even for royalty, it was a little excessive. Clay had the East, Niki the West, and in what Clay viewed as some sort of twisted irony, it was the same configuration as their old house in Florida, the key to which lay permanently in the centre of his chest and, along with the chain from which it hung, it was always hidden from view.

Back in Florida their rooms were smaller than the bathrooms in the White House, Clay's constantly filling up with more piles of schoolwork and lacrosse gear, Niki's walls always bearing magazine-cutouts of her current celebrity crush over the hideous teal colour she insisted on them being painted when she was 7, and regretted every moment later. Here, they were quite different. Clay's room was calculated and neat, every manilla folder and ring-binder having its own respective place, the previously-pink walls (Sasha Obama's choice) now sporting a muted mint green. Niki's room belonged to a pinterest board with the level of interior decoration that one would always aspire to have but know deep down that they would never reach; warm creams, dusty pinks and the occasional pop of blue, a record player, well-kept house plants.

They were aware that it was unusual that they, the president's children, still lived in the white house - normally once they reached 18 it was time to move out and, unsurprisingly, never back in, but Clay had started at Georgetown University around the same time that his mother was sworn in so it only made sense for him to take residency at the White House rather than wasting money on a flat down the road. Niki moved in that Autumn after graduating at the University of Florida, and despite whatever vague explanation she offered him, Clay was still convinced she had moved in to keep an eye on him.

So there he was, three years into being the First Son Of The United States (or FSOTUS for short), and three years into calling the White House the closest building to home, studying away. He knew full well that he was not going to be the youngest ever person in congress without working long and hard, and he was drawn out of his pondering by the door opening. In came Niki, a stack of magazines under one arm, a box of doughnuts in the other. Clay grabbed the box from her, mumbling a quick "thanks" through a mouthful of chocolate icing.

"What are they saying today?" Clay asked after his sister had settled on the sofa by his bed and the doughnut had disappeared.

"Hmm," She scanned the first magazine. "I'm a crossword answer here." She flicked through the pages, picking up a new one. "Ooh, this one is saying you're dating a model from New York."

They continued this, teasing each other about the inevitable rumours that constantly popped up about them. They found it hilarious how creative they would get,

"Aww look, I was almost on the front page of this one." She laughed, pulling Clay's concentration from whatever piece of work he had attempted to get back to as she showed him a glossy photo of her with 'Mystery Man'. "I mean, I can't say I am surprised that they put the wedding on the front page rather than me."

"Wedding?" Clay asked halfheartedly, glancing back at his assignment.

"Yeah, the Wedding."

Whose wedding?"

"Uhh, the Royal Wedding? Its been on almost every single cover. Don't tell me you'd forgotten about it?" Niki chided as he took in the cover: A glossy photo of the nondescript blond heir with his nondescript blond fiancee, both smiling blandly along with the headline PRINCE PHILLIP SAYS I DO! in giant letters.

"It's this weekend?" He groaned.

"Clay we leave tomorrow. How could you forget?"

"I don't know, talking to a bunch of stuck-up Europeans and having to pretend to be happy for little Mr Prince Charming's brother doesn't exactly fall high on my priority list."

"Well, either way, you better be ready. You know Mom will have your head if you screw this one up."

"I know, I know." Clay sighed dramatically.

"I still haven't decided on my dress... lace or burgundy?" Niki asked, passing her phone over to him.

"Lace. This is England we're talking about. Now go plan out your Instagram posts or something, I've got work to do."

"Whatever, just be ready to leave at 9." She told him as she shut the door behind herself.

The thrill of private aviation still hadn't quite worn off on Clay, and honestly it was what he was most excited about, despite having travelled quite frequently in the three years it had been a viable option. It was still surreal that, after never having been on a plane, let alone left the country before, he was now cruising 3000 feet in the air somewhere on a cream-leather chair, snacking on salted almonds. Floris Holleran, grandson of Vice-President Mike Holleran, part of the so-called White House Trio and more importantly, Clay's best (and arguably only) friend sat opposite, pouring over some article on his laptop, Niki next to him with her head resting on his shoulder. They were an unlikely trio, but a trio nonetheless, and were the closest thing the USA had to royalty. With Clay's charms and genius, Floris's computer-like brain and, in all honestly, Niki's grasp on normalcy, they were a good fit.

In the row behind the two were Dave, a Secret Service agent, idly flicking through the newspaper, and Amy, ex-Navy SEAL, Secret Service agent, rumoured to have murdered several-men. She had a bulletproof-titanium sewing kit open as she darned a button back onto her jacket, using a needle Clay was sure he had seen been stabbed into someone's kneecap.

The flight went unsurprisingly smoothly, touching down on the other side of the Atlantic a good 7 hours after take off, and the energy in London was simply electric. Roads were crammed with street parties of jovial citizens waving mini-union jacks and eating Victoria sponge cake off of paper plates. Street sellers had dropped their usual attire and donned trinkets plastered with the smiling faces of Prince Phillip and his fiancee, Kristin, and before Clay even had a moment to consider how weird the whole situation was he was seated in a cathedral as the ceremony started.

It seemed to drag on for years, not that Clay did not care for marriage; the actual service was nice, just incredibly bland. Quite frankly it seemed to him more like a business transaction than an act of love: a wealthy woman born of nobility marrying a prince? how mundane. Clay just hopes to God that someone shoots him before he lives through something similar. He wants passion, love, something much more Shakespearean and off his mind wanders, the steady drone of the priest making him drowsy.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There he was, on the floor of the Reception of probably the most important event of the entire year, the fucking Prince of England, winded, lying on his chest as some of the most distinguished people in the world looked on.

After what Clay, being dramatic as ever, thought had been years he was finally ushered into some fancy ballroom within Buckingham Palace - in true Clay fashion, he was not paying attention. He was seated at a table between Floris and Niki; the only two people he intended on communicating with that evening. He nibbled on caviar blinis and smoked-salmon sandwiches whilst making mindless chatter about the event with the others.

"I wonder how many historic milestones have happened in this room?" Clay scoffed as he looked around the grandiose room with its golden trimmings, artistic masterpieces and fancy lights which quite frankly looked like upside-down jellyfish to him. On a table in the corner was a pyramid of perfectly balanced champagne glasses, family heirlooms, no doubt, holding the fanciest champagne known to man. Sitting opposite, the biggest cake he'd ever seen. He'd heard that it had cost them £75,000. Seventy-five thousand. That could pay off, like, two student debts. Clay thought.

"Its probably just been ball after ball after ball... I doubt anything has ever happened here." Niki said, holding in a yawn.

"No, I bet something has. What if this is where Henry VIII decided that he needed to behead yet another of his six wives!" Clay contended ostentatiously with a rather horrendous English accent, pretending to swoon.

"Unlikely. The palace was built in 1703. Henry VIII lived in the 16th Century at castles like Hampton Court." Floris told him with a laugh, brushing a couple strands of white-flecked brown hair out of his eyes.

"Whatever." Clay pouted, causing the other too to burst into giggles, quickly stifled when Niki shushed them, remembering that they were in the presence of royalty and giggling like prep school students probably wouldn't be the best for their image.

As the evening went on, they moved from their residence at the table to a quiet corner as an attempt to interact with as few people as possible. Clay occasionally would steal glances at the Prince, each making him more angry, and consequently drink more to stifle it.

His first encounter with the Prince was back when he was 11 or 12, when the front cover of one of the teen magazines Niki was so obsessed with. It bore a glossy photo of a young boy of a similar age, mid tennis swing. It must have been a candid, there is no way a smile like that was forced, and since he had been enraptured; he would sneak into her room just to look at the boy, an aspiration of how life could be better. Back then, he understood why his millions of teenage fans were so obsessed with him; he embodied talent, perfection, manners - certainly the type of boy you wouldn't be afraid to bring back to meet your parents. All that changed when he met him for the first time though. The illusion was shattered and he could see through to the lacklustre, stuck up boy behind it, same as all the other royals.

Clay had already had at least 3 glasses of champagne when a rather greasy-looking man approached them, or rather approached Niki, the other two never being far enough from her side for it not to be considered approaching the whole trio.

"Miss Claremont-Diaz." He greeted her with an insufferably posh accent. Clay flashed her a grin from behind him and she send him back the most irate look she could get away with without the man in front of her noticing. It was essentially a twitch of her eyebrows, but Clay still caught it, hiding a grin. "His Royal Highness Prince George Fox-Mountcristen-Winsor is wondering whether you would give him the honours of accompanying him for a dance."

"She would love to dance with him," Clay butted in with a mischievous smile. "In fact, she's been wanting to all night, haven't you Niki?"

"I- Yes of course." She offered, attempting as much certainty as she could muster, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear with a polite smile as she was lead off, wiping her hand subtly on the side of her dress once the greasy man let go.

He watched as the Prince took her hand with a gentle smile, telling her something that made her smile before they started waltzing, his form, as always, impeccable.

"His Royal Highness Prince George Fox-Mountcristen-Winsor." Clay mocked. "If you added any more words you could call it an essay." Floris sent him an amused look as they both turned to watch Niki, Clay downing the remaining champagne in his glass. "Look at him, not one step out of place. While we were growing up in suburban Florida he was learning how to waltz. I fucking hate that people compare me to him, we could not be more different." His voice lowered to a whisper for the last part, the intensity remaining but the volume lowering as he became acutely aware that he was surrounded by people who would probably die for His Royal Highness.

"OK, but he's not exactly the worst person to be compared to. I mean, he's got a pretty pristine reputation and the public love him." Floris reluctantly added, his slight dutch accent poking through on certain words and becoming increasingly evident when compared to the British accents surrounding him. He, on the other hand, went to a boarding school in the Netherlands. On a scholarship, admittedly, but still. It wasn't quite the generic underfunded public school like the other two, but Clay could never hate him for that. Prince George, however...

"I can't bear to look at him any longer. I'm going to get a drink."

"Another?"

"Yes, another. I need it."

"Ok, just, now is not the time to get shit-face drunk. You know how pissed your Mom would be if you screwed up their relationship with the UK."

"Oh come on now, I've only had a few." Clay scoffed. "I'll be back in a second!"

And with that, he left. He manoeuvred his way around dancing viscounts and chattering lords, flashing the occasional smile to whomever caught his eye, only having to stop a couple times to have a quick catch-up with some politician who stopped him. By the time he had made it to the drinks it seemed Niki's dance had concluded and she was, practically glued to Floris's hip once again. As he turned away from the champagne fountain he was met with an all-too familiar face. Deep brown eyes, an annoyingly symmetrical face, perfectly trimmed hair... it made him want to gag.

"Are you done wooing my sister then?" He asked with a smile, though the words held no happiness.

"Clayton. I wondered when I was going to get the pleasure." George practically sighed through his pearly-white grin, looking down to fix a button on his perfectly-fitting prussian blue suit jacket, tailor made, no doubt.

"Here in the flesh. Don't look so excited to see me."

"You have made my day, I guarantee."

"I wish I could say the same... although, it was quite amusing to see Niki practically towering over you whilst you danced, that did make me smile."

"Well, unfortunately I was evidently not blessed with the good genes the two of you have." George replied, his words showing no malice compared to Clay's hostile ones and this just infuriated him more.

"Don't you ever get tired of all this?" He asked, gesturing in the Prince's general direction.

"Of what? I am afraid you are going to have to be a little more specific."

"Pretending you're above everyone and everything. You just cruise out here like its an average Saturday night whilst photographers obsess over you like one photo could make their whole career and you just act like it doesn't bother you and that you don't like the attention which is clearly a lie, since you just danced with the First goddamn Daughter Of The United fucking States. Aren't you just tired of it?" He spat with venomous voice as he took a step closer and was practically towering over the smaller prince, ensuring that no-one else could hear.

"I... would like to hope I am a little more complicated than that." George gathered his thoughts, trying to respond to the rather surprising outburst.

"Really?" Clay shot back, tipping his head back and gulping down the rest of his champagne.

"Oh... you're drunk. I think now might be the time to lay off the champagne." George told him truthfully as he grabbed the hand reaching for yet another glass.

"Don't tell me what to do." He yanked his hand out of the Prince's grasp, noting how, of course, they were perfectly soft and well-kept. "I bet you just can't handle the fact that I am not completely and utterly enraptured by you like the rest of them, huh?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, Clayton, but I was not the one who initiated this lovely exchange of ours... in fact, I don't think I have once talked to you, it always seems to be you, coming over to me. Maybe you should reconsider your stance, since, to me, it seems like you're just as enraptured as anyone else." George muttered quickly, before adjusting his demeanour and pulling out that Prince Charming smile once again and Clay stood there, stuttering.

"Have a nice evening, Clayton," He laughed, but there was no humour in his voice, only something between spitefulness and weariness and Clay, stubborn as he was, wouldn't dream of letting the Prince have the last word. As the shorter turned to leave, he grabbed his shoulder roughly to face him again, ready to spit out some half-arsed drunk quip but what he didn't anticipate was the Prince shoving him back. It didn't seem malicious, more a sign to let go of him but, as inebriated as he was, this was enough to cause Clay to lose his balance, tripping backwards feeling his feet lose their place and the last thing he remembered before he fell was If I am going down, there is no way in hell he's not coming with me.

With the rather ceremonious sound of the bang of a table followed by a hundred top-quality crystal family-heirloom champagne flutes shattering, the chatter came to a halt, and the eyes of every royal, politician, countess, lord and god-knows what other important person were staring at Clay, on the floor, George on top of him, and a littering of likely hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of glassware behind them.

His first instinct was to laugh. Of course, there was probably nothing which could make the situation worse than laughing, but it truly was a comical sight. There he was, on the floor of the Reception of probably the most important event of the entire year, the fucking Prince of England, winded, lying on his chest as some of the most distinguished people in the world looked on. The pain in his hand from the glass smashed inside of it was minimised by just the sight of the oh-so-perfect Prince with a cut on his forehead. It was long and thin, only shallow but an imperfection nonetheless. Just the thrill of the discovery that he is, in fact, human and not some kind of bland, polite, handsome robot or something made him suppress some sort of twisted smile.

The only thing that drew him out of his state of shock was the clicking of a camera and he knew that there was no getting out of this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have also posted this fic on Wattpad, and if any of you are interested in helping me decide minor plot points, trivial details, or even in having an OC, other content creator or yourself written in as a minor character feel free to follow me over there (@jubilee-line)! That way you can help play a part in the writing of this fic and sometimes I will ask if anyone wants to show up in a chapter with a minor part as an easter egg of sorts :)
> 
> I hope you all are enjoying it so far 
> 
> Yours,  
> Artio <3


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What the fuck are you doing?" George whispered sharply. Clay smiled genuinely for a second. That was the first time he had heard the Prince swear.
> 
> "Putting on a show, like we're meant to."
> 
> "I hate you."
> 
> "The feeling is mutual."

Clay got absolutely murdered when he got back (figuratively of course - it wouldn't bode well for his mother's publicity if the First Son Of The United State died). Darryl gave him a full and proper scolding whilst his mum sat next to him and watched, chipping in occasionally. Although he had worked for them for 5 years now Clay still couldn't help but stifle laughs every time the professionally trained, deadly agent used the word muffin in place of those which would be much more explicit, leading to frustrated outbursts from Darryl and disapproving looks from his mother.

Before he could even comprehend what had been happening between exams at Uni, news headlines and paparazzi bombardments he was in the private jet once again soaring across the Atlantic Ocean for slightly less favourable reasons.

"Remind me what I'm doing again?" Clay asked with a sigh as the disembarked the plane.

"You're gonna pretend that you and George have been buddies for years and that it was some kinda little fall out, okay you muffin?"

"Do I have to?" He whined like a little child, his eyes wide as he looked down at the shorter agent, who just gave him a sympathetic look.

"Yes, now go and grab your luggage, and make sure you know everything about the Prince." Darryl told him as they were met by what seemed to be the palace's equivalent of Darryl at the airport, before signing an NDA and being shepherded into a car.  
  


Clay had been forced to learn about George in order to effectively pull off the plan. Which plan, you may ask? In order to maintain public relations, the decision-makers through their correspondence across the pond decided that the best way to to minimise the damaged caused by the "incident" at the wedding would be to tell the press that they had been BFFs all along, and this was just some petty spat stemming from a long and happy friendship. So, he had spent the past 7 hours on the plane studying the long list of facts about the Prince he had been given, and presumably he had been doing the same. 

As expected, everything about the Prince was incredibly dull. Some of it he already knew; he had two older brothers called William and Phillip, he has a degree from Oxford University - Earth Sciences at Teddy Hall ( _Why the hell would you want to study rocks?_ Clay mused), and some things he did not already know and had no interest in learning. He is an avid reader, his favourite book being Hard Times by Dickens, which only made him hate the Prince more, because _who in their right mind's favourite book is Dickens? and Hard Times at that? Yawn._ He used to have a dog and has always had a love for animals, he can play the violin, his favourite dinner is toad in the hole _what the fuck is a toad in the hole?_

Clay thought at the time that just reading through it would send himself to sleep. Fortunately it did not, although after an hour when he was pretty sure he knew enough he had a quick nap, the list long forgotten and every boring fact expelled as far away from his mind as possible, despite the fact that they would probably aid him in his rest.  
  


He ran over the facts in his head as he travelled to Kensington Palace. The man they met at the airport, who introduced himself with a firm handshake his name (Zak) and not much else, briefly went over what they were doing; a photo shoot, TV appearance, charity work and just generally looking chummy. Clay was surprised to hear that he had an american accent but didn't comment on it - he had fucked up enough in the past week and didn't want to go around making enemies with the royalty's employees. 

When they pulled up to their destination, in what felt like a blur Clay was directed out of the car, given about 20 instructions at once as someone told him they were taking his luggage somewhere, someone else telling him where to go, and how to be and before he knew it he was standing in a driveway even bigger than the White House's, the imposing Palace looming over them as his 'enemy' approached him.

"Clayton!" Prince George managed with as much glee as he could muster (which as expected, was very little and would not convince anyone that they so much as tolerated eachother.)

"Your Royal Highness! How are you doing my friend!" Clay said with a small mock-bow and an almost menacingly large grin.

"I'm glad to see you're sober this time at least."

"Only for you, Georgie." He smiled disingenuously, figuring that if he was going to put on this act he might as well have some fun with it.

"Don't call me Georgie." He muttered under his breath.

"Well don't just stand there, gimmie a hug Georgie!" Clay approached him, knowing there was very little the Prince could do without it looking suspicious to the man taking photos about 5 metres away from them, and to the majority of the palace staff who were not aware of the facade.

He pulled the smaller into a big hug, the Prince standing there awkwardly for a second before hesitantly wrapping an arm loosely around his torso.

"What the fuck are you doing?" George whispered sharply. Clay smiled genuinely for a second. That was the first time he had heard the Prince swear.

"Putting on a show, like we're meant to."

"I hate you."

"The feeling is mutual." and with that they pulled apart, Clay sending an unconvinced glance to Darryl who gave him a thumbs up. "I would rather die than have to spend two days with you."

"I'm sure that could be arranged." 

"Oh but I don't think old Granny of yours would be very happy with that. That would taint your reputation."

"It would be worth it though, if it meant I never had to speak to you again." George shot back as they pulled away.

"You know, it never fails to surprise me how short you are." The pair were lead over to god-knows-where, still having to keep up the friendly act as the photographer watched on.

"I'm average! You're just freakishly tall." 

"Okay, whatever you say shortie." He said, letting out a great and very fake laugh as he quickly glanced over to the photographer, abruptly stopping the moment he saw the camera lowered.

"I take it back, you can call me Georgie as long as you never call me _that_ ever again."

"What, shortie?" Clay sniggered, taking such pleasure from getting under the Prince's skin

"Yes." He groaned, looking (up) at the blond.

"Fine then, Georgie."

" _For Christ's sake_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is on the shorter side but I wanted to get something out! Keep an eye out for more updates, I'm really enjoying writing this one :)  
> I added a note to the previous chapter but I am not sure if some of you saw it so I'll put it here too:
> 
> I also post on wattpad (@jubilee-line) and I intend to make the writing of this book relatively interactive! I will be asking over there for help deciding minor plot points, random tidbits of information about the characters and even asking for users, OCs or other CCs for cameos in some chapters. Feel free to go follow me over there if you would like to be part of the writing process of this book I guess!
> 
> Best wishes,  
> Artio <3


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What are they hiding?"
> 
> "I bet he has some secret lovechild, or-or he's gay or something." Floris said with a grin.
> 
> "A secret gay lovechild!" Niki quipped and the trio giggled together like little kids at break-time.

Quite unsurprisingly Clay had always thought that the Palace reminded him of the White House. Not in the way one might enter a cosy cottage and feel immediately at a home-away-from-home. In fact, quite the opposite; it had the same imposing feeling of holding so much history and no character at the same time. He rattled through the list of things he had learned about George as he was lead through the remarkable building for reassurance when it dawned on him quite how important it would be to pull this off.

_"Mother? Princess Catherine, oldest daughter of the queen, first princess to obtain a doctorate. Father? Arthur Fox, used to be James bond, passed in 2015. Age? 23. Best friend? Alastair Blackwell, nicknamed Eret, Heir to the biotech giant Blackwell Pharmaceuticals, met at Eton. Went to Oxford University. No pets, but loves animals..."_

"...Clayton? Clay?" Zak who was leading him to his room for the night interrupted from his thoughts as he continued walking on autopilot, not really paying attention to anything.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" He said as he rushed back to the man, who was standing still in a doorway, a couple metres behind.

"It's no problem at all!" Zak offered with a slight smile. "You'll be sleeping in here."

"Thank you, Zak!"

"Clay, I- would you mind maybe trying to talk to the Prince once outside the scheduled activities?"

Clay's face dropped into a face which practically screamed 'do I have to'. 

"Come on, it will make this whole act seem much more genuine, and we will all be in trouble if you don't pull it off." 

"Fine. I'll try my best." Clay sighed as he headed in to the grandiose bedroom, far too much gold to be considered tasteful by his means, his duffel bag full of clothes sitting next to the meticulously made bed.

"You know... the Prince doesn't exactly- well... he doesn't exactly have many friends."

"Oh God I know where this is going-"

"Clay, from what I've heard, you don't either."

"I don't have time for friends- wait who told you that?"

"That doesn't matter!" Zak quickly dismissed in a somewhat defensive manner. "What I was saying was, it doesn't seem like the worst idea in the world for you to maybe actually have a try at this whole friends thing with Prince George."

"You know what, it actually kinda does sound like the worst idea in the world to me-"

"Why do I even bother." Zak muttered under his breath, Clay not missing the slight smile accompanying the words."Just... give it a think okay?"

"Okay then, Zak." He said with a smile, walking into the bedroom. "Thank you!" He added as the other turned to leave the room. He thew himself onto the bed with a sigh. In any other situation he would have been reluctant to crinkle the perfectly crisp white sheets which must have taken hours to diligently iron and fit to the bed, but he was, quite frankly, too tired to care. He reached into his pocket, idly logging into his phone and turning it off silent to see, as he probably should have expected, a bombardment of messages from Floris and Niki. To be fair, the vast majority were just the pair chatting away as usual in the trio's group chat, but a fair few from both were bugging him for every little detail so far. Without much thought, he called Floris, knowing that out of the two he was most likely to pick up, and they were probably near to each other anyway.

"How's England?" Floris's voice sounded tinny through the phone, but the familiarity of both hearing it and seeing his face brought him comfort either way. He was sat on the comfy leather sofa in the lounge area of the white house, Niki on the armchair beside it, Clay's spot painfully empty.

"How do you think? It's all boring and grey like it is every time we come over." Clay answered glumly, flipping his camera and bringing it over to the window to show the lavish green gardens surrounding the palace, the gloomy grey skies framing the shot. "That's probably all I can show you though without getting arrested for something or another. I know the White House is bad, but this is literally like being in a museum... and I'll get in deep shit if I break something here."

"Like you don't get in deep shit for breaking stuff over here."

"I mean... they have basically stopped caring at this point."

"That's not an excuse to be careless Clay." Niki chipped in, peering up from the book she was reading.

"I'm not careless, just... clumsy." Clay shot back, receiving two very disapproving glances.

"Done anything exciting yet?" 

"All I've done is fly here, sign an NDA and get some photos taking of us meetings and being 'friendly'" He groaned, the last word in air quotations.

"Another NDA? Surely you've signed one for the palace before." Floris said with a questioning look.

"Yeah, and it was, like, a foot thick as well." 

"What are they hiding?" Niki laughed, setting her book down upturned as to not lose the page before jumping on the sofa closer to the video call.

"I bet he has some secret lovechild, or-or he's gay or something." Floris said with a grin.

"A secret gay lovechild!" Niki quipped and the trio giggled together like little kids at break-time.

"More likely it's in case I see them swapping him out for one of the other clones of him because the wiring was wrong or something." Clay said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "What's happening over in good old 'Murica then?" 

"Not much really..." Niki started, before heading into some half-hour tirade about the headlines, magazines and god-knows what else. Clay, honestly, wasn't really paying attention. He was just grateful to have the familiar presence of his best (only) friends, even if only through a phone.

At some point between her lecture about how tabloids are harmful to society and the dangers of the inaccuracies of information published, Clay was decidedly very thirsty and a little peckish, so he decided to scout out that living area Zak had mentioned earlier. He found it with ease; he may be clumsy but god did he have a good sense of direction, and filled up a glass with water from the fridge in the kitchenette before sitting properly (not sprawling like he normally would - he felt it was not quite the right place to make himself feel like home) on one of the sofas. It felt quite weird, sitting in what seemed like an empty palace at 10pm, the distant cacophony of London traffic all but a constant afterthought, the palace gardens lit up by the eminent light pollution radiating from the city, blocking out any chance of even a glimpse of the stars. He wasn't particularly tired; he could put that down to the jet-lag, fucked up sleep schedule, insomnia or the caffeine addiction, so he sat there, occasionally adding a word or two to the situation, wholly disconnected from his surroundings. 

He was about to chip in once more when he heard some soft footsteps approaching. He seemed to recall Zak saying Darryl was also staying on this floor, along with a few other personnel and-

"Two seconds, guys." He mumbled, covering the speakers as the footsteps drew closer, and the sight that emerged was really not what he was expecting. Clearly the other two could tell from his facial expression, but their questioning was quickly cut off by Clay hanging up the call, almost dropping his phone as his wide eyes fixated on the figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a cliffhanger there, I couldn't help myself (also it lowkey motivates me to start writing the next chapter each time I turn to write shh). I hope you guys are having fun with this, plenty of Prince George and First Son Dream to come! Bit of a Heatwaves reference at the end there for any of you fans of it!
> 
> Artio <3


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh- hello, Clayton." He spoke softly, his voice a little horse as he stood up a little straighter at the sight of him. "Sorry- I- umm... Krave?"

"Oh... um, hi?" Clay stumbled over his words in his surprised (and sleep-deprived) state. There in the doorway stood a rather dishevelled, half-awake Prince. He wasn't wearing a suit, rather a long-sleeved blue t-shirt, sleeves just a little too long and so covering his hands, and a pair of navy plaid pyjama bottoms as he yawned, rubbing his eyes before meeting Clay's and matching his surprised expression. He had earbuds in, his hair was a mess, his feet bare. Rather shockingly, he looked human for once, rather than just like some Disney Prince.

"Oh- hello, Clayton." He spoke softly, his voice a little horse as he stood up a little straighter at the sight of him. "Sorry- I- umm... Krave?"

"What?"

"Oh..." He paused before padding over to the kitchenette and retrieving a bright-red cereal box donning the word 'KRAVE' in bold letters. "I'm sorry I- there was none, and I thought they might have got some for you."

"Oh... okay. Do you normally raid your guest's kitchens?" Clay asked, amused at the rumpled boy in front of him before realising the Prince was hesitating before opening the box. He gave a quick nod with a smile, considering saying no just for the sheer thrill of denying him something so trivial but he wasn't really thinking.

"I'm sorry I just.. only when I can't sleep." He responded, his expression rather unreadable.

"Is that often?" 

The prince only nodded in response, having to jump a little to grab a mug from the top shelf (which didn't go unnoticed by Clay, but he felt bad tormenting him this late at night). 

"Me too." The american answered after a brief and deliberated pause.

George froze in his actions, turning to properly look at Clay, his face a little startled for a second before returning to pouring milk in the delicate china mug.

"Nice to know I'm not the only one, I guess. I just assumed you'd be asleep by now." He said as he placed the mug in the microwave for a few seconds, before pouring it over the bowl of cereal.

"Nah."

"Do you want some? It's good, and I got some milk left."

"Why are you using warm milk for cereal, that's so gross." Clay's face wrinkled in mock-disgust.

"Just trust me on this one."

"Okay then I guess." And with that, the Prince grabbed another bowl, filling it with the cereal before pouring over steaming milk and pushing it towards him, grabbing another spoon. They started to eat in silence, the only sound being their munching and the clinks of the spoons hitting the bowls. "You were right this is really good." Clay mumbled through a mouthful. The cereal was little wheat pockets filled with chocolate, and the warm milk caused the chocolate to melt but the outside remained crispy and, as much as he didn't want to admit it, it was delicious. George shot him a slight smile, before seemingly musing for a second. 

"Have you thought about tomorrow?"

"What about it?"

"What you're gonna say, how you're gonna act, what-"

"Hey, watch." Clay interrupted him, before jumping up and standing next to him, whipping out his phone and taking a quick photo of the cereal.

"Nothing quite like late-night cereal with Prince George #jetlagcured." He read out monotonously before pressing tweet. "See, don't overthink it." Then finished eating in a lulled quiet, both not really sure what to say. George (rather surprisingly to Clay) picked up both bowls when they were done, putting them in the dishwasher. They stood there in some kind of awkward silence for a minute neither really knowing what to do, only the buzz of Clay's phone drawing them out of it.

"I should-I should get back to Floris and Niki." He said as he saw another 20 notifications asking him what happened.

"Ok-um yes-night Clayton." The Prince said, before turning to leave.

"Clay."

"Huh?"

"Please call me Clay. No-one who knows me actually calls me Clayton."

"Fine, but only if you agree to never call me Prince George or anything. I much prefer just George."

"Good night, just George." Clay laughed, genuinely this time.

"Oh for gods sake you know what I meant." He shot back with a sleepy smile. "Night Clay." And with that, he padded off.

Clay sent a quick text to the others explaining what happened, before heading off to his room. After brushing his teeth and changing into some pyjamas, he basically threw himself onto the bed and passed out, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He woke up rather early the next day, earlier than he was required to at least. The sun had newly risen, the sky still sporting remnants of its blush, and the palace was, like the night before, eerily quiet. He wondered for a second if it did ever get louder, before the fleeting thought was long forgotten by the soft footsteps he could hear if he focused on it, and he imagined that as more of the palace awoke it would only get louder. He rubbed his eyes until the geometric hypnosis of phosphenes merged and disappeared, then brushing his teeth, showering, putting in contacts and changing into his outfit for today; a somewhat informal suit, not quite imposing and businesslike but still smart enough to make televised and photographed appearances alongside the most loved man in the UK. He wasted the next few hours on his phone before the alarm he had set rung and ushered around to breakfast, then to a car again as they made their way to their first scheduled event; a TV interview.

It was relatively uneventful, the interviewer being a generic, well-spoken Londoner in a creaseless red dress matching the shade of the BBC logo which was plastered around the building. She was somewhat serious, occasionally throwing in a (pretty obviusly) well thought-through joke. Clay didn't know whether to be disgusted or thankful that it was starting to become easier to pretend to be the Prince, or as he wanted him to call him, Just George's, friend, but the thought was quickly forgotten as he ensured that he was saying exactly the right thing, as is the nature of national live television, there is very little you can take back. They were asked easy questions; how they met, which obviously was the same whether they were friends or not, how long they had been friends, an answer which was well rehearsed on both parts, what happened at the wedding, which again had been ingrained in their minds by Darryl and Zac ("We were just joking around, having some fun, enjoying the wonderful wedding when Clay slipped and fell into George.").

He was surprised that George let him lead the interview, he was mistaken in thinking this was all fun and games for the Prince as he saw him discretely fidgeting with his hands during the appearance, not letting the fairy tale-ready smile drop once despite the fact he was picking at the cuticles around his thumb so hard that scarlet droplets were forming, although they were quickly wiped away against the dark fabric of his trousers. Clay didn't mind piloting the interview though. He was a rather extroverted character, naturally speaking with eloquence and charm, his smile being, in his humble opinion at least, just as dazzling as the prince's, if not more. At least it made it seem more like they were friends, with Clay speaking with ease and George occasionally chipping in with fun little quips and stories when, in reality, Clay was like this with everyone.

Once the interview was over, they both breathed an audible sigh of relief, before being whisked away back into the cars, being escorted into their next stop; Battersea Dogs and Cats Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the chapters are taking a while and only being short but I am very busy at the moment! Hopefully by the end of next week I will be able to start writing more often again, both this and my MCYT Oneshots book (which you should totally check out if you enjoy this, shameless self promo moment). I hope you all are well, and those who celebrate Christmas like me are getting in the festive spirit (which reminds me... christmas oneshot?)
> 
> Yours Faithfully,
> 
> Artio <3


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Aren't you a good girl Twix, awww." His voice went all high pitched as he cooed at the cat, kissing the top of her head. He could hear George laughing at him so he turned to face him fully, his chin gently resting on the cat's head. "Are you laughing at Twix?" He pouted, "Honestly, Royalty. What a stuck up lot, amirite kitty?" The cat glanced up at him with a knowing look and he gave her one back. "Of course you do, you're such a smart cat." 

They were driven to South West London and led to 'Battersea Dogs and Cats Home'. Clay took a brief moment to look around at the area before walking in. He took in the power station looming over the shelter, noticing a few people stopping and staring at them. _To be fair_ , Clay reasoned, _a few years ago I would have certainly stared at the FSOTUS and the Prince... and we're not exactly a sight for sore eyes either._ He nearly laughed at his own internal comment, sending a polite smile to a few of the members of the public taking in the scene which caused them to practically squeal. starting and greeted by a few people wearing matching uniforms.

One of the three stepped forward, looking confused for a second before giving a somewhat hesitant bow of sorts, George laughing a little and telling him that there was no need for formalities like that. The man looked quite young, perhaps a couple years younger than Clay, and was, annoyingly, taller than him, his hair was a mousy brown. He wore a suit and his hands clad in mismatching gloves - one black, the other white.

"Hi there You-your Royal Highness and er-Mr Clairmont-Diaz!" He stumbled over his words, seemingly unprepared for the situation. Clay rose an eyebrow at his American accent. "My name is Ranboo, welcome to the shelter! I am-I am going to be your guide today."

"It's lovely to meet you Ranboo. Please, call me George." George said sincerely, shaking the gloved hand.

"Nice to meet a fellow American over here - and yeah please call me Clayton or Clay, Mr Clairmont-Diaz makes me feel so old."

"Oh-Ok then!" He gave them an awkward laugh, but his posture was clearly a little more relaxed at the stark lack of uptightness from the pair. "Right this way please."

They entered the room, led by Ranboo, flanked by Zak, Darryl and a few other staff members. 

"Ok so first we are going to do the promotional video - that will only be quick, it's only short! Then you get to come and see them all!"

"Great! Thank you very much." Clay said with a courteous smile as they sat at the chairs laid out for them. The video was, indeed, pretty quick, only being a few lines for each to recite about how crucial it was that people donate to shelters and adopt pets, and after a few takes they had all the film they need. Once that was over, they got to do what they were both looking forwards to most.

"Holy shit oh my god they are so cute!" Clay gushed excitedly, seeing George smile at his childishness in the corner of his eye. The pair rushed over to the animals, immediately sitting to meet the dozen or so cats, some kittens and some fully grown, running around and playing by their feet.

"Here they are! They're all friendly, feel free to pick them up but be gentle of course! Let them down if they wriggle though or they might-uhh-pee on you." Ranboo explained as the pair looked up.

"Let me guess - personal experience?" Clay laughed as he gave the kitten who had scrambled into his lap a head scratch, his smile only growing as it lent back and slowly closed its eyes in contentment.

"Yep." Ranboo sighed. "The photographer will be here in a sec, honestly just keep playing with the kittens like you are now and pretend she isn't there."

"Okay!" Clay said, as his focus was pulled to a kitten who trying to jump into his lap.

"Thank you, Ranboo!" George called out softly as the man turned to retreat back to his colleagues.

"Oh- no problem at all! Honestly it's been an honour." Ranboo rambled, scratching his neck awkwardly. George just let out a little chuckle before going back to petting the kittens.

"That one looks like Crookshanks." George said, looking up to Clay and then back to the cat in question. It had dangerously wild long brown fur and a squashed face, a constant look of perturbance upon its face. 

"Crookshanks?" Clay sounded surprised.

"Hermione's cat- have you not seen Harry Potter?"

"Of course I have. You have?"

"Yes? Can you help me choose which to adopt?" George said nonchalantly, glancing over to see Clay cooing at the kitten in his lap as it tried to tackle his hand.

"Wait hang on a second- _adopt_?!" Clay almost shouted, before being dramatically shushed by George, who pointed to the small cat who was sleeping in his lap, purring contently.

"Oh, sorry!" he stage whispered, suppressing laughter. "Since when were you adopting?"

"I managed to convince everyone at the palace to let me adopt one of the cats last night... I gave them some bullshit about PR for the shelter and all that, but I've really wanted a pet for ages." 

"Oh really-" Clay started, but was cut off by Darryl.

"Clay, Prince George, this is Sarah, the photographer for today. In case you've forgotten-" He gave a very pointed look at Clay who did tend to forget things rather a lot. In his defence, he did have ADHD, which made him get very distracted very quickly. "-She is taking promotional pictures of you guys with the cats which the shelter can then use as promotion, so just keep on playing with the cats and looking cute."

Clay gave him a mock salute, his face stern for a second before the smile inevitably cracked through. He glanced back to George, who rolled his eyes, although it was more playful than it had been whenever he had rolled his eyes at him in the past (which seemed to happen a lot for whatever reason). Clay was annoyed that he almost felt amicable towards the British boy, not wanting to admit to himself that they did have a little more in common than he had previously thought, and he could almost go as far to say that he was (he internally retched) _likeable_. George had that same cat in his lap still, a pretty grey tabby with relatively short fur and a round face. It let out loud purrs as George scratched under its chin with one hand, the other playing with a kitten by his side. 

Clay's attention was grabbed by a brown tabby cat with a white tuxedo and a little white blob between its eyes. It lay on the floor by his leg, its head resting on his knee, and it wouldn't fail to let out a little mew of disapproval and give him a deadpan stare every time he stopped stroking it. He picked the cat up and held it like a child and it stared up to him and started purring, stopping and staring at him like before every time he stopped stroking and he couldn't help but laugh. 

"Would you like me to tell you a little more about the cats?" Ranboo asked as he approached the pair again.

"That would be great, thank you." George responded politely. 

"So that one you've got there is Oscar, Your- sorry Prince George. He's only 4 months and is the sweetest boy, always sleeping." Clay was amused to see the sudden shock of excitedness seemingly enter Ranboo as he got a whole lot more animated, his face lighting up as he started to talk about the cats. "And that one, Clayton, is Twix. She is 3 months and her and her three brothers those two over there-" He gestured to the three tabby cats play-fighting on the other side of the room, "were born here! When we name litters, we generally go for a theme, so they were named after chocolate bars."

"Chocolate bars?" Clay chuckled, "Aren't you a good girl Twix, awww." His voice went all high pitched as he cooed at the cat, kissing the top of her head. He could hear George laughing at him so he turned to face him fully, his chin gently resting on the cat's head. "Are you laughing at Twix?" He pouted, "Honestly, Royalty. What a stuck up lot, amirite kitty?" The cat glanced up at him with a knowing look and he gave her one back. "Of course you do, you're such a smart cat." 

"You're so stupid." George laughed, causing Clay to feign offence before joining in. 

"Are you gonna adopt that one again... Oscar was it?"

"I think so- look how cute he is!" 

"But what about Twix! She's even cuter!" George mocked shock this time, moving his hands to cup the cat's face. "Don't say that where he can hear you!" 

Clay basically wheezed in laughter. "And you say-" wheeze, "-I'm stupid." 

"Shut up and stop being mean to Oscar."

"Okay, okay, just- take Twix for a second, look at how friendly she is." Clay handed George the cat, who mewed in discontent for a second, before nuzzling into George's chest, letting out relaxed purrs again.

"Look at her, isn't she the cutest?" Clay cajoled, basically giving him puppy dog eyes at this point. 

"Okay she is pretty sweet. I can't make any promises, but I will ask the palace if I am allowed to adopt 2, I've got to come back another day to actually complete the adoption process." 

"Yes!" Clay practically cheered, getting confused looks from around him. "Wait- give me your phone."

"What?" The brit looked confused, temporarily stopping his stroking, only to have his hand nudged by Twix with a little meow.

"So I can put in my number? I'm not asking for late night romantic conversations or something I literally just want photos of the cats."

"What- okay fine, here."

Clay took the phone, quickly adding his contact before handing it back.

"First Son Of The Better Side of the Atlantic? Really?" 

Clay only wheezed in response, getting a sassy look from the Prince.

"Alright you two, time to go." Zak called from the side of the room. He and Darryl had been quietly chatting away in the meantime, Dave occasionally chipping in in his unapologetically monotonous manner and voice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this, I probably should have made the whole enemies thing go on longer whoops. Any guesses as to who Twix is? I'm sure you all have figured it out :D Save the queries about George owning her though, all will be explained! Thought I'd give Ranboo a cameo in this chapter - expect more of that with other creators not featured in the main cast :)
> 
> Season's greetings,
> 
> Artio <3


	8. chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why does this keep on happening to us?" Clay let out an unemotional chuckle again, his whispers slightly more hostile.
> 
> "Do you mind?"
> 
> "Don't say it like that, this is your fault Your Royal Highness."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, I did make some changes to the previous chapter. Sorry, that was a bit of a whoops on my end, I forgot that I wanted this scene in here - if you haven't read chapter 6 since I changed it, I would recommend reading it again so that you know what is going on!

With one last loving look at the cat, Clay gave Twix one last scratch on the top of her head as they started to leave. Zak, Darryl and Dave left first, along with a few of the staff members, the pair leaving shortly after. Clay and George ambled along the hallway in comfortable silence, looking to the other in confusion as a commotion of sorts was heard up ahead. There were shouts, and a pop of sorts in the distance. It sounded rather alarmingly like a gunshot.

"You two, in here. Stay down" Dave said, his flat voice not betraying any information as to what the hell was going on.

"Dave what-?" Clay shot back in response as the pair were shoved into a closet of sorts, the door slamming quick behind them. Clay tripped over some kind of cleaning equipment, tumbling to the floor, and, due to the proximity, he brought George down with him. The Prince let out a gentle grunt as his back met the floor and Clay fell on top of him. He managed to partially support his weight on his hands, one on each side of George's neck and if he wasn't wincing from the pain this was causing him he surely would have found it hilarious how compromising the situation was.

"What the fuck" He whispered, his voice barely needing to sound; their faces were mere inches away from each other.

"Oh my god." George muttered.

"Fuck, that hurt... My hand from the _last_ time we ended up like this." Clay laughed drily, still keeping his voice a whisper. George looked somewhat concerned, Clay assumed about their current predicament but some nagging voice in the back of his head tried to convince himself that it was about his injury. Those thoughts were quickly replaced by what he thought were much more reasonable ones: _I'm currently locked in a closet with the fucking Prince of England, the guy who I hate but I can confirm is actually human, whilst someone probably tried to shoot us or something and he is lying right below me what the fuck-_

"Why does this keep on happening to _us_?" Clay let out an unemotional chuckle again, his whispers slightly more hostile.

"Do you _mind?"_

"Don't say it like that, this is your fault _Your Royal Highness._ " Clay mocked sarcastically, his voice starting to rise.

"What do you _mean_ this is my fault?" George hissed under his breath, acutely aware of their situation and somewhat trying to remind Clay of how quiet they were meant to be.

"No-one ever tries to kill me when I'm doing presidential stuff but the _moment_ I go out with the Prince someone tries to shoot me- you don't even have guns over here- that makes it so much worse jesus-"

"Will you _shut up_ before you get us both _killed?_ "

"Dave is standing in front of the door, we're not going to be killed-"

"Then can you at least get off of me?"

"I'm American, you can't tell me what to do." Clay retorted as he awkwardly manoeuvred himself to a sitting position. The closet was very small, maybe only two metres or so wide and long and was cluttered with cleaning equipment, so the pair found themselves sitting pretty close to each other. 

"Can you move over?" George whispered hesitantly. The whole of the sides of their bodies were flat against each other.

"What do you mean can I move over- can _you_ move over?" Clay hissed.

"There's no space on my side."

"And you think there's some one mine?" 

They fell into an awkward silence. Both wanted to say something, neither really knew what.

"So Harry Potter, huh?" Clay started halfheartedly.

"What?" 

"You said the cat looked like Crookshanks."

"I did. What about it?" George was no longer hostile, just confused.

"I didn't think there would be time in the royal schedule for popular culture." Clay teased.

"I still had time to do normal stuff Clayt-Clay."

"What, alongside waltz lessons and manners coaching?"

"I.. err yes." He sounded uncomfortable. 

"Has anyone ever told you that when you're not being a stuck up prick you are almost pleasant to be around?"

"Why do you hate me, Clayton?" George let out an exasperated sigh.

"Is the conceitedness and air of superiority not enough of a reason?"

"I thought we were over this." George muttered under his breath.

"Don't you remember the first time we met, George?"

"I.. umm... I can't say I do actually."

"At the Olympics?"

"Huh?"

"I was so excited to meet you, you know? I had built you up in my head to be this perfect fucking Disney prince like the media told us _normal_ people." He scoffed. "And do you know what happened? Do you remember what you said?"

"I- I don't, sorry?"

"That was the problem. You said nothing at all. You just took one look at me and ignored me. You looked like you had just seen something disgusting- something _dirty_."

"I- Jesus Clay I'm so sorry I had no idea."

"You turned to Zak and you said- you know I was so excited to see you, I had just introduced myself, you shook my hand and you turned to Zak and you said 'can you get rid of him?'"

"Oh. I didn't think you'd heard that."

"That doesn't change that it was a dick move!"

"No it doesn't. I'm sorry. Is that why... all this time?"

It's not just that George I just... I'm the son of the first female president and if that wasn't enough for people to dislike me, my dad is half Mexican and an immigrant and I know I'm so goddamn fortunate to be white passing but people still remember. You've always had it so easy; you were born into this life. This is all you know. You've been brought up to deal with this shit and _everyone loves you._ You're _fucking perfect._ "

"Clay I... I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry for how I acted back then but if it means anything it had been less than a year since my dad had- he had passed. I was a bit of a prick to everyone back then and I know it doesn't fix it..." he trailed off. "You know, he always loved animals... my Dad I mean..."

"Is that why-"

"Yeah, that's why I picked here." They fell into a lulled silence again, just processing everything that had happened.

"It's nice to know you're not perfect!" Clay smirked and he could practically hear George roll his eyes.

The moment - if you could even call it a moment - was interrupted by Dave opening the door and pulling them out. They were told that a crowd had gathered outside the shelter as people had posted about the pair's location on social media. Someone had set off a firework and people thought it was a gun. Luckily, no one was hurt.

They met Zak, Darryl and the shelter staff at some sort of back exit, the cars parked outside to presumably avoid the crowds. It was a little awkward. Clay wasn't entirely sure whether to give the Prince a handshake or a quick hug.

"I - err- expect you to let me know when you get the cats alright?"

"It may just be one, don't be disappointed."

"It better be two, _Your Royal Highness._ " He mocked with a small bow.

"Whatever, maybe I won't ask to adopt Twix too-"

"But-"

"I'm joking you idiot." George rolled his eyes playfully once again. 

"You should probably text me anyway- we've got to keep up this act."

George nodded. "Have a safe flight, I guess."

"Bye." Clay said, giving him a stiff wave as he left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hasn't been proofread, sorry for the mistakes but I'm tired and want to publish it.
> 
> Happy holidays!  
> Artio <3


	9. announcement (not a new chapter, sorry!)

**Sorry for the lack of new chapters lately!!**

**So, Yellow, White & Royal Blue. As some of you will have seen, it got copyright claimed over on Wattpad. Although I do not agree with the claim, since I was doing more than simply renaming characters or copying every single event in the book as it says in the regulations, I'm not going to argue with the claim out of fear that my whole account might get deleted over there! I am enjoying writing it, though, so what I think I'm going to do is alter/rewrite the first 7 chapters so that they are completely different from the book, but still keeping the very rough plot of RW&RB, and I think I'm also going to change the name to further detach it from the book (I was thinking International Relations/Relationships maybe? I'll update you all when I've decided!).**

**I'm not going to lie, I did find the claim a little frustrating, especially where I have seen people write fanfics about much larger franchises e.g. Harry Potter where all they have done is insert a new character and the plot stays the same, for example, or a new ship is created but it follows most of the same events and I really do feel that if that is allowed, mine should be but it's fine. I reckon what probably happened is someone read the first chapter (which is admittedly relatively close to the beginning of the book, although still quite clearly different) and assumed that the rest of it was going to be as similar too and so reported it for copyright. I'm not mad, and I probably should have read the rules before creating it and then I would have maybe made it a little more distinct but ultimately it is fanfiction isn't it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯.**

**I will update the chapters over here as well with the reworked fic (or would you guys rather I published it as an entirely different fic? I don't mind to be honest), but hopefully that should all be done in the next week or two, and then I should be back to the normal rough schedule of 2ish chapters a week.**

**I hope you all are doing great, remember to stay hydrated, have a snack if you haven't had one in a while and make sure you get enough sleep! I love you :)**

**Artio <3**


	10. An Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TLDR: I have started to published the new, rewritten version of this fic, it is called International Relation(ship)s and can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28346667/chapters/69451323 or on my profile (@jubilee_line)

So, I have made the decision to publish a new fic. I think the general consensus was that it would be the most pain-free and least confusing way of doing it, to keep them as two separate stories. I will leave this one up, but I will not be updating it anymore.

The new book is called 'International Relation(ship)s'! You can find it on my profile @jubilee_line or at this link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28346667/chapters/69451323

  
At the time of writing, the first chapter is up! I am planning on updating the 7 existing chapters daily this week, so be sure to bookmark/subscribe to it (if you want to of course!) so that you don't miss an update!   
  
Thank you all for sticking with me through this mess, and it was lovely to see some familiar faces (/names?) commenting under the seasonal fic I wrote over the past few weeks called Blue Christmas! Show it all the love you showed this version and more, honestly every single comment I read makes it all the more worth it to me, and that's what drove me to update this so quickly despite being incredibly busy when I wrote the chapters in this book.

See you all over at International Relation(ship)s!  
  
Artio <3


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